Her white skin shocked by waves,
Of waters colder than the Land,
Scoops precious drops that it saves,
By virtue of the most beauteous, blessed Hand.
The air that stings her after fails,
To arrest a moment breath bated by.
What Beauty, like the Cold assails,
This Truth upon the Hidden Eye.
The Mind is numbed as is Abode,
By shivering veils, Adonis worn,
The Dream is lifted, it’s veneer echoed,
By Love, it’s memory sweet Reborn.
Was there a Woman? Did Vision Lie?
Could such Beauty, gleam serenely by?
Living, breathing, Could she Die?!
Not perhaps, for now she’ll never say Goodbye.